Answers
by ImagineGal
Summary: Clayton Jones is looking for some.  An experimental attempt at BenJonesy.  Written before Season 2.


DISCLAIMER: Carnivàle is the property of Daniel Knauf and HBO.

-------------------------

There was an unwritten rule among the folk of the carnival of don't ask, don't tell. The past mostly stayed in the past until it was inquired about, mostly among those who were on the run from the law or had some other problem they were trying to escape. Even with the rumors that constantly spiraled around the midway, the details of Life Before the Carnival remained, for the most part, a mystery.

Frankly, Clayton Jones was getting tired of it.

He'd been perfectly fine with it up until that point. He'd been fine with not knowing the full histories of the men who worked under him; the rousties. As long as they didn't ask about him, he wouldn't ask about them, and everybody just did their job. That was the way of it.

But that was before that damned Hawkins boy had shown up.

Ever since Ben Hawkins had entered the carnival, Jonesy had sensed something stirring. Whoever he was, this boy brought with him a dangerous past, more dangerous even than being on the run from the police. And dangerous pasts often led to volatile futures. The secrets that continued to mount up around Ben Hawkins could indeed prove risky for everyone who worked there.

As head of the rousties, Jonesy felt it was his responsibility to watch out for those working under him. If he couldn't find out every detail about Ben Hawkins, he'd at least have to keep an eye on him.

he barked out that day, as the carnival was setting up for a new town. Come on and help me set up the cooch tent!

The boy obeyed, and soon the two of them were tying the ropes around the inside of the tent, securing it to the poles.

So word around the midway is you're spendin' an awful lot of time in Management's trailer, Jonesy said.

Ben asked, looking at Jonesy with a wary eye. What would you know about it?

Jonesy shrugged. Jus' wonderin' what the man wanted, is all. Gotta admit you _are_ somethin' of a mystery.

Ben scratched his forehead and sighed. I dunno, he said, I dunno what he wanted, I dunno what he wants. There was a pause as he suddenly stopped tying up the rope and took a long look at Jonesy. Then he pointed at the older man's leg and asked: How'd you get like that?

Jonesy looked up, surprised. The last roustie who'd asked that had got popped in the jaw. But that had been back when the injury was newer; when the hurt was still fresh in Jonesy's mind. And it had been before Ben's time.

He pulled on the rope; made sure the knot was secure. Baseball injury, he said gruffly.

Ben drawled, Y'get hit in the leg with a bat er somethin'?

Jonesy stiffened; his hands knotted into fists. But he held his temper.

he grunted, That's pretty much it.I could fix that, y'know.

For the third time Jonesy stopped; he looked up, he looked Ben right in the face. The boy was looking right back at him, an almost amused smile gracing his lips. For a moment Jonesy didn't know what Ben had meant, and then he decided that he probably didn't want to know. He tugged on the rope again, aggressively.

I don't need no docterin' and I don't need your generosity, he growled. We got work t'do. And he stormed out of the tent, throwing the flap aside.

Ben watched him go, then nodded somberly and set about his work.

- - -

It was just after closing time. Jonesy had announced to the rousties that they could head off to sleep, and most of them had already took him up on the offer. The midway was almost silent, save the flapping of the tents in the wind, the occasional footstep, and the creak of Jonesy's leg brace as he meandered along, a bottle of coondick swinging from his left hand.

At one point, a flash of brilliant orange caught the corner of his eye, and Jonesy turned to see Ben Hawkins lighting up a cigarette. For a moment the two men only looked at each other, and then the silence stretched long enough that something had to be said.

Jonesy said, and tossed Ben the bottle. He started walking towards the edge of the carnival grounds; out towards a grassy hill. Let's go.

Ben didn't argue.

- - -

Ben got drunk remarkably fast, at least by Jonesy's standards. Easy there, Farm Boy, he smirked as he watched the young man throw back a mighty swig and collapse forward coughing. _Lucky bastard can't hold his liquor_, Jonesy thought, taking the bottle.

They were both sitting on the hill, and the only light came from the carnival, giving the scene an eerie, twilight-like quality. Jonesy took a drink, looking up at what hints of stars he could see through the light.

he said, once he'd worked up the courage to say it, I just wanted to apologize for askin' before about you an' Management. I know it ain't none of my business.

Ben turned to look at Jonesy.

Ain't none of my business what happened t'your leg, either, he said, looking apologetic, Was just... he shook his head, Curious is all, I guess. He sniffed and looked at the ground.

They passed the bottle back and forth a couple more times, drinking in silence. Soon Jonesy had finished the last of it. He swallowed with a satisfied , and then took a moment to look back up at the stars. And then he noticed that Ben seemed to be staring at him.

Jonesy looked down into Ben's face. The boy was staring alright; his eyes were practically burning holes through Jonesy's head.

Jonesy asked, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

Ben lifted his right hand, hesitated, looked to Jonesy as if for permission, except Jonesy didn't know what he was asking permission for. And then Ben gently laid his hand on Jonesy's knee.

Jonesy felt himself take in a sharp breath. The last person to touch him there, with that sort of tenderness, had been Rita-Sue, and thinking about her only started a chain reaction that Jonesy was powerless to stop. He was getting a hard-on.

he heard himself say, firmly grabbing onto Ben's arm. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't want to be healed... It had only been so recently that he'd gotten used to being the way he was, had become accustomed to the ways in which he needed to move in order to live with his disability. He was frightened of having it taken away so suddenly.

Ben looked up at him, surprised, and their eyes met, their faces inches from one another.

Please don't, Jonesy repeated.

Ben removed his hand; it slid slowly off Jonesy's leg into the grass. And then all of a sudden the boy seemed to deflate; he collapsed backwards onto the grass with his hands on his forehead, and he started to sob.

Jonesy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. If he didn't know how to deal with a woman's emotions, he sure as hell didn't know what to do when another man started to cry right in front of him. Aw hell, Hawkins, he sighed. Then, hesitantly, he put his hand down into Ben's hair, patting reassuringly if sporadically. You sure are a piece o' work, ain't ya? _Poor sap probably just had too much t'drink,_ he thought.

And then Ben sat up quite suddenly and embraced Jonesy around the shoulders.

_Definitely too much t'drink._

No matter how rough and hardened Jonesy appeared most of the time, though, he did have a softer side, and he couldn't bring himself to force Ben off, not in the state that the boy was in. Again with a hesitant air, he put his arms around Ben, returning the embrace and tightening it. Ben sobbed against his shirt.

Jonesy heard himself say. He rocked Ben slowly back and forth, as if he were comforting a child. That's alright. Just let it out.Oh, God, Ben suddenly burst out, as if he'd just realized what he was doing- or maybe it was just the weight of everything still bearing down on him. I'm sorry, Jonesy-It's okay, Jonesy assured him, saying what he knew Ben wanted to hear. It's okay.

Ben looked up at Jonesy, his face wet with tears, his breath hot and smelling of liquor. And Jonesy took the boy's head in his hand and guided it gently back down to his chest, rocking him back and forth and whispering in his ear: It's okay. It's okay. And they sat there together for a long time, until the moon hung high and Ben had cried his last tear.


End file.
